


Racing

by Solemnly_Swear (Fitzsimmonsx)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Being Chased, Fluff and Angst, M/M, hand-holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 16:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzsimmonsx/pseuds/Solemnly_Swear
Summary: Arthur is angry and Merlin is (mostly) oblivious.(aka the time where Arthur and Merlin are running from the bad guys, yet again) (one-shot)





	Racing

They’re being chased again, and Merlin’s heart is beating at an unhealthy speed. He isn’t sure why it’s even a surprise at this point, considering the amount of danger Arthur thrusts them into every day, but there’s something perpetually shocking about being chased by people with bows and arrows.

This particular group is unusually large- Merlin didn’t get the chance to see to the back before they started running, but it was enough that even Arthur looked a bit cowed. Of course, he would later tell anyone that he decided to run in order to save Merlin, but Merlin knows it’s all an attempt to rescue Arthur’s dignity. It’s not like he cares at the time, though- he’s a bit too preoccupied with the _almost_ _getting_ _killed_ bit, and is in fact very relieved when Arthur makes the sensible decision for once in his ridiculously noble life.

Arthur is fast. Merlin is too, of course. He’s spent many an hour running from a bully he’s riled up with a misplaced comment from his loud mouth. Over the years, he’s become reasonably fast- by the time he’d gotten to Camelot, he was able to outrun most bullies (until he’d stumbled upon Arthur, and then this whole mess had begun). But Arthur- Arthur is impossibly fast. If you’d asked Merlin when they first met, he would have said, no doubt, it was because Arthur was the bully. He was the one stepping on those weaker than him and running them down only to trample them under his (spotless, ridiculously expensive) boots. It’s a testament to how much has changed, though, that Merlin dismisses this idea now. Arthur might be conceited and a bit condescending at the best of times, but he’s also loyal and righteous and annoyingly protective of the people he cares about. His speed comes from his hard work, from how high he has set his expectations for himself.

A twig snaps behind Merlin, a bit too close for comfort, and he pulls himself out of his thoughts to turn around and survey the situation (it’s really a miracle he hasn’t tripped yet- clearly, Merlin’s mind is the clumsy part and his body would do perfectly fine without his thoughts there to mess things up). His glance is a mistake- there is a man right behind him, readying an arrow, and Merlin’s whole body flinches away in anticipation.

Suddenly, he is moving forward, an arrow whistling past his ear. Merlin rights himself (well, as much as he can while still running), and feels rather than sees the warmth of Arthur’s hand on his wrist.

“Merlin,” he’s yelling, “what the _hell_ are you thinking? Run faster, will you?”

As these are both clearly rhetorical questions, Merlin simply focuses on his feet and resists the urge to glance behind him again. The pounding of feet is much more distant now and Merlin feels hopeful that they will actually escape (if his body holds out for much longer, that is). They run for a little while longer, Arthur occasionally passing back an insult to keep Merlin going, until Arthur yanks Merlin into a cave of some sort.

Footsteps thunder past them, followed by the galloping of horses. Merlin takes a moment to get his breath, then turns to Arthur.

“That was a whole army after us. Did you hear the horses, too? That wasn’t a random chase, that was deliberate-“

“And there’s nothing we can do about it,” Arthur says with frustration, running a hand through his hair. This, of course, brings both of their attention to his other hand, which is still loosely grasping Merlin’s wrist. Arthur yanks it back immediately and busies himself with glancing around.

“They’ve all passed,” Merlin says, eyes still on his wrist. He can almost feel the heat still, like there’s a trace left on him, and he’s not sure how he feels about it.

“Well, it can’t hurt to be sure,” Arthur says, absentmindedly rubbing at his own hand. Merlin wonders if he can feel it too, then rolls his eyes and steps out into the open.

“What are you _doing_?” Arthur hisses.

“It’s fine. They’re gone and we have to get back to the castle before it gets dark out.”

Arthur steps out of the cave with no small amount of trepidation, glancing at the trees ahead of them as if an arrow will pierce the foliage any moment.

Something about this display makes Merlin nervous. It’s not that Arthur can’t be cautious- it’s just that he’s grown used to Arthur’s tendency to thoughtlessly plunge them into dangerous situations.

“What’s going on?” he asks Arthur.

He is rewarded with one of _those_ looks- as if Arthur has decided he is a blithering idiot and not worthy of the ground he is standing on.

“What’s going on?” Arthur mocks, scowling. “Clearly someone’s set their entire army on us. If it is who I think it is, it’s not just us in danger, it’s the whole of Camelot. And we nearly got killed with arrows. That was too close of a call.”

Arthur sets off in the direction they had come from, as if his response has inspired him in some way, and Merlin reluctantly follows him.

“We?” Merlin mutters. “I was the one that nearly got killed.”

To his surprise, Arthur stops, and Merlin almost falls over him and instead manages to steady himself against a tree.

“What did you stop for?” He asks warily.

“You,” Arthur says, “are worthless. Is it that difficult to run when someone’s chasing you?”

Merlin just stands there, at a loss for words. Arthur isn’t irritated as he’d thought earlier- he’s absolutely furious, and it seems like it’s directed at Merlin, for some reason.

“If I’m that worthless,” Merlin says when he recovers his voice, “why didn’t you just leave me?”

Arthur seems to have no response to this. He glares at Merlin as if warning him against speaking and starts where he’d left off, picking his way through the forest.

Merlin hesitates. It’s his choice- he can stay where he is, make a statement. Tell Arthur that he won’t stand being treated like this any longer. Or he can follow Arthur, just clumsy servant Merlin stumbling after the prince of Camelot, and everything will be like normal.

Merlin doesn’t have to make the decision- against all odds, Arthur has come back and is looking at Merlin like usual, with his mix of irritation and lazy condescension.

“Stop dawdling, Merlin,” Arthur says, extending a hand.

Merlin is prepared to refuse it, to slap it away and revel in the look on Arthur’s face, but something stops him. There is vulnerability in Arthur’s eyes, in the slight unsteadiness of the hand he has extended, and Merlin realizes that it’s a peace offering. A harshly worded, well-disguised one, but an effort nonetheless. Merlin sighs a little and puts his hand in Arthur’s, and the relief that flashes across Arthur’s face is so strong it surprises Merlin.

But then Arthur’s pulling him along like usual (although his hand is warm and heavy in Merlin’s, and when Merlin tries to pull away a few steps later, Arthur’s grip tightens a bit). Merlin hurries to keep up, smiling a little at his feet for no reason. His heart is racing again, this time for less clear reasons, and he resolves to get into better shape. Clearly he needs to work on his endurance.

(It is a surprise to neither of them when Merlin stumbles halfway back to the castle, almost bringing Arthur down with him.)


End file.
